


Lover's Century

by Tam_Tam



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, M/M, past rhys/sasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24008833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tam_Tam/pseuds/Tam_Tam
Summary: This entire fic is based on the song Mausoleum by Rafferty (and I recommend listening to it first if you're interested). Rhys is a ghost, and Vaughn is alive, working at a museum reading through his letters left behind.
Relationships: Rhys/Vaughn (Borderlands), Vaughn & Yvette (Borderlands)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

Vaughn adjusted his earbuds as he worked, carefully pulling the cord under the edge of the table so as not to disturb any of the papers on his desk. They were delicate, curled and torn by age and acid. 

For the moment he’d been tasked with transcribing the ‘new’ documents at the museum. It wasn’t always the most interesting work, but for the most part it was easy, making for a calm few days. He liked looking at the different handwriting, straight or slanted, fine cursive loops or heavy, blocky print. 

Even through the music he was listening to, Vaughn heard the sudden slam of his office door. He looked up to see Yvette with her arms wrapped around a box. It didn’t seem too heavy, but the shape was awkward, especially through the crowded room. He didn’t mind when artifacts were stored in his office, but it was a source of constant annoyance for everyone else that stopped by. 

Yvette let out a breath as she dropped the box on a nearby chair. “All yours,” she said, already turning to leave. 

Now intrigued, Vaughn pulled out both of his earbuds and looked over at the box. It was just cardboard, so whatever was inside must’ve been the object of interest. 

“Don’t I at least get some context?” He asked, standing up. As he approached the box he started to take off the latex gloves he’d been wearing, but Yvette gestured for him to stop. 

“You’ll want to keep those on. It’s full of some old letters they recovered on a pair of bodies out in the middle of nowhere,” Yvette paused for a second. “We don’t really know the details yet, but I heard someone say they were thinking these are from at least a hundred years back.” 

Vaughn was unimpressed; 100 years wasn’t too long compared to some of the other things he’d worked with, even just counting what was in the current room. Still, paper was paper and chances were it wasn’t kept in good condition before it came into his hands. He wasn’t sure what he’d have to deal with once he opened that box. 

“Thanks Yvette. I’ll get on it soon as I’m done with those,” he adjusted his glasses, then glanced at the contents of his desk dismissively. Yvette shrugged and started walking away, heels tapping against ancient, chipped green linoleum. 

Vaughn, still standing and gloved, decided to take a peek at his new project before returning to his current work. Placing a hand on each side of the cardboard lid, he lifted carefully, revealing a loosely stacked collection of letters. He briefly considered calling Yvette back in to ask who the hell had thought it was ok to be so careless in their placement of the papers, but thought better of it and carefully pulled the top letter off the stack. 

The paper was thin and crumpled, still holding together but weakened by age. Even though the quality of the paper itself had deteriorated through the years, the handwriting upon it was well preserved, if a little smudged. Beneath the first few lines of script there was a small black stain, the same color of the ink. Vaughn suspected the run in the ink was less from weathering and more from the original writer’s hand. 

Still, messy as the whole thing was, the handwriting was lovely, even and straight, looping delicately across the page. Vaughn traced over the first few letters in the air. 

_ My dearest _ , it began. 

Love letters. Far more interesting than documents recording the price of baking ingredients. Vaughn set the letter back down into its box, but only to clear his desk. After carefully filing away his other work, he pulled the box over to his side and began to read. 

_ My dearest,  _

_ When will I see you again? The world pulls us apart, and all I hope for is to be with you again. I could write to you until my fingers bleed and my pen is dry from use, but even that would not properly convey my feelings for you. _

_ So I have a proposition, if you’ll hear it. Run away with me. I can get money, I’ll make it, or steal it, whatever it takes to have your hand and heart beside me. I know this is not how you imagined your life, nor is it how I imagined mine, but we’re here now.  _

_ Whatever it takes, we can do it. Give me 3 weeks, then I’ll be ready. Wherever you want to meet, whichever day, whatever time, send it to me in your next message. I’ll be waiting there, bags packed and ready to start over. We can go wherever you want, make those dreams of leaving, safety, and love come true.  _

_ This letter may be short, but be assured it is not for my lack of care, just my busyness with preparation for our lives together.  _

_ -Rhys _

Underneath the signature was a small heart, seemingly scrawled at the last moment. An afterthought, but an affectionate one nonetheless. There was something charming in it, Vaughn thought, carefully sliding the letter toward his computer to begin copying its contents. 

As he finished typing, he looked back to the paper, his eyes drawn to the scratchy looking heart. Something about it, clumsy but loving, kept stealing his focus. 

And the more he focused on it, the odder he felt. Cold, for some reason, as if the windows had been left open in the middle of winter. He got up to check the seals around the old window panes, but found nothing amiss. He left the room to check the general thermostat, but even that seemed perfectly normal. 

Even the room just outside of his own felt considerably warmer. He wondered if something was wrong with his own air conditioner before returning to the office, deciding to speak to someone about it the next day. It was already late, and he was sure maintenance was long gone for the night. 

Everything remained in the same place he’d left it, including the sudden cold. He grabbed his things hastily, ready to leave, but something about the letter on his desk stopped him. For some reason, he hated the idea of leaving it behind. 

Vaughn decided it wouldn’t hurt anyone to bring it home, and carefully slipped it into a protective sleeve before sliding it into his messenger bag. 

On most days Vaughn walked to work, but this time he’d taken his car. He was glad, already thinking about blasting the heater on the trip back. He cranked up the heat as soon as he climbed it, but the whole drive home he still felt the same chill he had in his office. When he got home and it still failed to fade, he began to wonder if he was just sick. 

Vaughn’s apartment was comfortable enough, although it was just as crowded as his office at work. Here the floor was littered with things all his own; books, a few games still in their cases, and the occasional piece of clothing. It was apparent from the space’s state that it had been awhile since he’d had guests of any kind. 

After dropping his bag in the living room, Vaughn proceeded to his kitchen to make dinner. He decided to stick with the simple, pulling a half empty box of pasta from the cabinet. As he boiled water for his dinner he held his hands near the steam, the first thing to warm him since work that day. He watched as the water bubbled and spit, bored but too comfortable to leave. 

Rhys tapped his fingers against Vaughn’s table, and was slightly annoyed to find that they didn’t make any noise against the piece of fiberboard. He figured it shouldn’t have come as a shock, he wasn’t able to move things, so why would they respond to his actions? Still, it was the little things that bothered him the most about being dead. 

Having no say in where he went was one of them. Rhys wasn’t exactly sure why, but apparently he’d been connected to those damn letters the whole time. It had certainly come as a shock when he saw his body, and Fiona’s, carted off together, only to be dragged off toward a separate truck headed the opposite direction. He wondered how she was doing all alone, and decided she was probably coping with it better. 

Determined to distract himself, Rhys watched the man that had taken him home.  _ Been a long time since that’s happened _ , he thought. 

Rhys wasn’t sure how to feel about the man in front of him yet. He was short, tired looking, and had been shivering for half the time they spent together. Rhys hadn’t yet realized that part was his fault.

After analyzing the general details of his frame, Rhys decided there were a few things about the museum employee that he found cute. Endearing, even. He had nice eyes, but they were hard to see behind thick glasses. His hair also fluffed up as he ran his hands through it, possibly a nervous habit, or just to keep it out of his face. Perhaps the thing Rhys liked most about him, at least for the moment, was the way he smiled reading through his letter. Rhys had received his fair share, and knew the feeling, but he’d never before been given the chance to watch someone’s expression change, moved with emotion from his writing so many years ago. 

Something about it all softened him, left him feeling open to the man in front of him, even if he couldn’t communicate it. He opted instead to take another step closer, sending another shiver down Vaughn’s spine. 

“Maybe it’s about time to lay down,” Vaughn mumbled, pushing up his glasses to rub at exhausted eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Upon returning to work, Vaughn quickly reached for the box Rhys’s letter belonged in, intending to slide it back in before anyone noticed it missing. He carefully lifted the cardboard lid, then jolted as he heard a loud cough by his door. 

“Needed some extracurricular reading, huh?” Yvette asked, one eyebrow raised. Vaughn stammered out a greeting, then lowered the lid back down shamefully. The two stared at each other for a moment, both waiting for someone to break the uncomfortable silence. 

Finally, Vaughn spoke up. “Just wanted to double check my transcription. That’s all,” he lied. He gave her a weak smile, hoping it would be enough to dissuade her from asking further questions. 

“You’re lucky I’m the one who stopped by,” she sighed, crossing her arms. “They wanted someone to tell you that they’re burying the people they found with those letters.” 

“What does that have to do with me?” Vaughn asked, genuinely confused. He averted his eyes from Yvette, instead focusing on his desk. As she continued to speak he pulled on his gloves and finally managed to slide the letter back where it belonged. 

“It’s not really about  _ you _ specifically, but one of the higher ups wants a plaque put in with them. Just something about who they were and a little plug for the museum.” She paused for a moment, during which Vaughn interjected. 

“So we’re advertising in the cemetery now? Did you tell them that’s the height of class?” 

Yvette shrugged, apparently neutral to the idea. “Gotta get people in the door somehow. Anyway, since you’re reading the letters, they hoped you’d be able to figure out who at least one of them was. I can take you out there later, too, if you want.” 

Vaughn frowned, first finding the idea distasteful. The graveyard was actually very close to the museum, enough so that he passed it on his way in and out of work, but he never liked being near it. He’d always let his eyes trail the pavement instead of following the curves of the old wrought iron fencing. Then he had a moment's pause. Some morbid curiosity, twisted as the fences themselves, asked him to consider it. Rhys was there; he’d be there forever, now. And little as he knew about him, Vaughn wanted to visit. 

“Sure, why not,” he responded. “How about on lunch break?” 

Yvette gave him a small nod, then turned, leaving him alone again in his office. He breathed a short sigh of relief, then reached for the box again, this time pulling out a different letter. 

Rhys watched Vaughn sit down, new paper in hand. It looked like he planned to read through the whole thing before he began messing with the machine on his desk. Rhys liked the look of it, and hoped he’d get to see Vaughn use it again soon. 

It didn’t take much reading for Vaughn to determine that this letter was older than the previous one. From the way Rhys spoke here, it seemed much earlier in his relationship. 

_ Things are hard at work right now. My boss is being just as terrible as when you saw him that first day. I asked him about having a few days off, hoping I could squeeze in a trip to come visit, but it sounds like he’d like to have me on until the people above him finally notice that I’ve lived in the office for a week.  _

_ How about you? I know you’ve had a lot going on lately as well. Has Fiona warmed up? It sounded from your last letter like she’d prefer I don’t come around. Maybe you should come here instead, save the arguing.  _

_ As always, I’ll be waiting with bated breath for your response. Did you know I always keep your letters in my desk? I look to them sometimes when the work day runs long.  _

_ I can only hope that my words provide equal comfort and warmth to you.  _

_ -Rhys _

Vaughn found it funny; this letter had an almost casual air to it. The last one had felt so much more formal, trying so hard to be the kind of romantic that made people swoon. He wouldn’t say Rhys had failed entirely, but this felt more personal. He didn’t think any of Rhys’s words were empty, but these seemed more human, vulnerable. Just a regular person speaking to someone he cared for. 

Rhys watched as Vaughn began to type his words, paying careful attention to the way his focus drifted between the blinking line on the screen and his finger just millimeters above the paper. He liked how Vaughn poured over his writing, lavishing it with attention he’d never seen before.

Rhys knelt down beside Vaughn, giving himself a clear view of everything he transcribed. He was impressed by how quickly Vaughn’s fingers flew across the keys, and how rarely he had to pause for an error.

Moved by impulse, Rhys reached out, fingers against the keys right alongside Vaughn’s. This caused the other man to pause, raise his hands, and rub them together. He continued to hold them close for a second, then brought them down to Rhys’s again, then withdrew. 

“Weird,” he mumbled, now visibly uncomfortable. Rhys, feeling guilty, pulled his own hands back to stop distracting Vaughn from work. 

This continued for several hours, just Vaughn reading, taking in the little details of Rhys’s life, and slipping them onto the screen that so fascinated their original author. So much had changed in the years he’d been away from the world, and for the moment he wanted to take in as much as he could. 

Although Rhys was incapable of communicating with Vaughn directly, he had noticed that he could influence him in some ways. Too direct contact was often enough to send him away shivering, and Rhys wondered if he could use it to make Vaughn bring him somewhere else. He’d been intrigued by what the woman who stopped by earlier said. If he could go find his body, maybe he could at least talk to Fiona. 

Vaughn looked down at the clock on his computer and decided to get ready for his lunch with Yvette. As he grabbed his things he felt the return of a familiar cold, and inched away until he found the closest warmth. After that it became a cycle, him finding somewhere comfortable, then being pushed out, up until he found himself with his hands over the box of letters once again. 

Swallowing thickly, Vaughn placed a hand on the top of the box. 

_ Warm _ . 

He drew it away again, to an icy shock, before quickly replacing it. “Is there someone there?” Vaughn asked, feeling silly, but convinced there was some presence beside him. “Cause...this would be a pretty weird draft…” He tried to laugh the situation off, but was stopped by a biting chill in his hands. 

“Sorry?” He apologized, unsure what for, as he opened the box and felt a wave of returning heat run through his skin. Vaughn was looking down at the same letter he’d brought home the night before, a knot of discomfort growing in his heart. 

_ Pick it up. _

Vaughn reached down into the box and once more hid the letter in his bag, this time managing to pack it safely, unnoticed. 

There was a soft knock, and then his office door opened, revealing Yvette once again. 

“Ready to go?” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Before heading to the cemetery, Yvette and Vaughn stopped over at the little cafe next to the museum. Although most days they didn’t have the time to eat together, it had become a regular spot for the times they did. 

Normally they sat outside, but the sky was already a threatening grey that convinced them to take their lunch inside. They walked in together, chatting absently about work. For the most part it was regular, clerical type issues, with a few more exciting incidents thrown in. Yvette complained about another coworker who had spilled coffee on her desk, showing Vaughn a small stain in her amber colored sweater where she’d been leaning against it. 

The pair slipped into a quiet booth toward the back, and Vaughn looked over the menu lazily. He wasn’t particularly hungry, and opted to get a cup of soup. 

“That’s all you’re getting?” Yvette asked, surprised. “I’ve literally never seen you eat that little.” 

Vaughn placed his elbow against the table and slumped into his palm. “I’ve been feeling kinda out of it. Don’t get too worried,” he buried a yawn and tried to force himself to sit straighter. 

Yvette leaned across the table, speaking quietly. “Like I shouldn’t get worried about how you took home that letter yesterday?”

Vaughn tapped his fingers against the table, sucking in a quick breath through his teeth. “I already told you. Just wanted another look.” 

“We don’t do that.  _ You _ don’t do that. If you don’t want to talk about it now, fine, but you still owe me an explanation.” 

Vaughn tried not to visibly wince as he nodded. Of course Yvette wouldn’t let him off that easily. He pulled his bag closer underneath the table, making slight adjustments to set his wallet on top. He didn’t want to spend the whole meal worrying about her seeing the letter again when he opened his bag to pay. 

When their food arrived Vaughn stirred his soup absently, watching noodles twirl around in salty vegetable broth. Little specks of pepper were caught up in the current, swirling around helplessly. He enjoyed watching it all, finding something calm in the curling steam against the backdrop of a small, blue bowl. 

“Are you going to eat that or stare at it? We still have to make it to the graveyard before lunch is over if you want to see it today,” Yvette said, crunching into a french fry.

“Yeah, sorry,” Vaughn brought the spoon to his lips, finally taking it in. 

Paying was quick, and luckily took place without incident, and then they were on their way again. He followed Yvette’s quick pace as close as he could, a little jealous of her long strides. 

They made good time, reaching the cemetery entrance about 6 minutes later. The ornate gates were open already. Yvette seemed familiar with the path, leading him around various gravesights until they reached a small building. It was marble, and looked like it had been around for quite some time. 

“This building looks old. Is it shared?”

Yvette shook her head. “It was actually built for some patrons of the museum, this married couple. By the time it was completed they decided they didn’t actually love the location, and it was left to us along with a bunch of their other assets when they died. Director thought we could put it to some use.” 

Yvette walked just the same as before, but inside, against the marble, the sound of her heels reverberated against every wall. She gestured for Vaughn to follow as she stepped all the way into the middle of the room, between two vaults. They were both cement, but with lids colored to look like silver. 

Vaughn could tell from the disturbance in dust that people had been in and out quite recently, but it looked like a rush job. The remains had been hidden away, but the room had been left carelessly, not so much as a single flower left behind. Although the building itself was lavish, it felt loveless, neglected too long. 

“Look who came back,” Fiona waved to Rhys from across the room. “This is the longest we’ve been apart for awhile. Nice to finally have a chance to hear myself think,” she teased. 

“Yeah? For a second there it almost sounded like you missed me,” Rhys shot back, trying to suppress a smile. 

They’d gotten on each others nerves easily when they first died, but being trapped together for so long had eventually forced them into opening up. Neither had ever expected to become so close, or to ever be separated. Having finally experienced it, Rhys had to admit he was a more uncomfortable than he’d expected. He was glad he’d at least had Vaughn to follow around in the meantime. The thought of sitting alone in the decrepit tomb was painful. 

“Who are they?” Fiona asked, pointing to Vaughn and Yvette. 

“Just some museum employees. Vaughn, that one there, is carrying one of my letters around,” Rhys responded. 

“You must be tired of being dragged around by some stranger.” 

“You’d think. But...I’m enjoying the attention.” 

Fiona rolled her eyes, preferring not to think too deeply about exactly what that might entail. “Well, I’m guessing he won’t be leaving that letter behind?” 

Rhys frowned, knowing what she was hinting at. “Yeah, you’re going to be on your own again. But maybe he’ll come back to visit.” 

“That’d be a little weird, don’t you think?” Fiona was watching Vaughn now. He was mostly talking to Yvette, but occasionally brushed bits of dust or cobwebs off of the things near him. 

“It  _ would _ be, but I’m pretty sure he actually knows I’m here. Or that someone is there. I’d like to think that if I was in his situation I’d pay proper respects, you know?” 

“Sure, whatever. Maybe you deserve each other.” 

Rhys laughed awkwardly, then rubbed at the back of his neck. “You uh, you think?” 

“You know what? I don’t want to be involved in whatever this is. Pursue living people all you want, but don’t expect to get that far,” she warned. 

“You’re probably right,” Rhys sighed, watching as Vaughn and Yvette turned to leave. “Guess that’s me. I’ll see you soon, hopefully.” 

Fiona gave him a quick nod and a quicker wave, wandering back into some far corner. Rhys turned to follow the museum employees, trying to ignore the little pang of sadness from leaving Fiona so soon. 

Yvette looked down at her watch and groaned. “Looks like we’re running back.” 

  
  


Rhys found the rest of Vaughn’s workday dull. Although there was some nice nostalgia in rereading the old letters together, not being able to interact with any people or the new technology around him was growing increasingly frustrating. All he could really do was shadow Vaughn, or make him a little uncomfortable in his seat. Not wanting to be too disruptive Rhys had elected to just watch, but his interest could only be held by the gentle clicking of Vaughn’s keyboard for so long.

Although it was only a slight improvement, Rhys liked standing behind Vaughn’s desk the best. From here he could easily look out the windows. They were old themselves, cracked wood and peeling paint doing their best to protect the pair from the torrential rain. Every so often, a drop would still make it in, falling and pooling onto long misshapen linoleum. Rhys briefly wondered if the building was older than he was. 

_ Still reading. He’s still reading. What an incredibly bland job _ , Rhys thought. He decided he missed the schmoozing of the old days, but acknowledged that might’ve been more about the desire to speak to people than real affection for his job. 

_ But the fun I had.. _ .Rhys imagined what it would have been like if Vaughn had the chance to meet him like that, still warm flesh and soft words. Maybe it would’ve been some work event, some party that was a little too formal for anyone’s comfort. People would be dressed in their finest clothes, straight from the tailors, but as always Rhys would stand out just a little from the crowd. 

Even in flatter shoes than normal he’d stick out over the heads of most of the others there, the exact opposite of Vaughn, who would be hard for him to locate at first. Once he found him they’d just have to stick together, Rhys decided. Not that that would really be about finding him again; Rhys just wouldn’t want to spend too much time apart, but Vaughn didn’t have to know that. 

From there it could be whispered words and a little champagne, then somewhere separate from the rest of the party. Maybe Vaughn would offer him a hand or something else he could grab and it would be private and loving and over all too soon; just like everything else in and including Rhys’s life. 

Rhys was caught up in his own fantasy until he heard Vaughn clear his throat. He parted his lips slightly, on the edge of speech but too nervous to force the words out yet. Vaughn sucked in a breath, his shoulders rising with the swell of air, then falling with a sharp exhale. 

“Maybe I’m imagining this, and I’m totally alone talking to myself like an idiot. But I’m not, right? Some...one... is in here?” Vaughn paused. “If you could show me, somehow. I don’t know. I just have to know.” 

Rhys approached him, letting his hand hover over Vaughn’s. The smaller man swallowed thickly, seeming more afraid now than when he first began to speak. 

“If you could...I don’t know, I guess touch my thumb? No, touch both,” he held out his hands in front of him, flinching slightly as he raised them, the movement dragging one hand straight through part of Rhys. 

Rhys, smiling, repositioned himself behind Vaughn, reaching one arm around each side of his head to gently press his index fingers to Vaughn’s thumbs. For a moment they both stayed completely still, unsure what should happen next. 

“Holy shit,” Vaughn said, finally, staring at his own hands. “Um, ok, so you wouldn’t happen to be Rhys, would you? Oh, hold on. Take yourself away for a second.” 

Rhys withdrew immediately, bringing his arms back to his sides. 

“Alright. If you  _ are _ Rhys, do that again.” 

Vaughn jolted as he could almost feel the blood leave his chilled fingers. “Oh man, there’s so many things I’d love to ask you...Keep holding on if it doesn’t bother you that I’m reading these.” 

Rhys held himself firmly in place, and after a second he could see a tension drain from Vaughn that he hadn’t even realized was there. He supposed it wasn’t shocking, if he thought he was going through the belongings of someone unwillingly while they stood watching, he’d feel anxious as well. 

“So, earlier we went to visit your body, and I guess that was you guiding me to the letter. Is going to your body good for you?” 

Rhys shrugged to himself. Existing in this world was painful for him in general, but he felt about the same now as any time before. He doubted being near his body really mattered at all, but as long as it was with Fiona’s it was worth the trip back whenever possible. He continued to hold on. 

“Right, ok. I guess that makes sense. I’ll take you again sometime. But for now I’m going home,” Vaughn started to pack up the things on his desk, too distracted by the idea of communicating with Rhys to continue his work for the day. 

After slipping the rest of the letters one by one into the box they came from, Vaughn found his fingers around the one he’d brought home before. 

“Do you want to come?” 

Rhys reached out for his hand again and Vaughn took it as a resounding yes. 

“Sorry, I’m probably going to be really annoying tonight, I just can’t believe I can actually speak to you. Like, you’re here, but you’re dead, oh, maybe you don’t like thinking about when you died? Sorry, I just have no idea what you’re going through right now.” 

Vaughn continued to ramble on with his own theories of what was happening to Rhys, while Rhys himself watched in amusement. There was something about Vaughn right now, how he spoke with much greater passion than Rhys had seen from him before, that further charmed him. Rhys smiled again, preparing himself for the numerous questions that were sure to come.


	3. Chapter 3

As Vaughn continued to read through Rhys’s letters he began to see many common themes. Love for a girl named Sasha, a staple, in addition to assurances they’d work it out with Fiona, or that he’d get away from his boss. Sometimes he’d also bring up things he saw that reminded him of Sasha, or things he wanted to do together with her. 

For the most part, this meant places he wanted to bring her, or new dishes he’d tried that he wanted her to experience as well. Every now and then, however, the things he brought up doing were of the sort Vaughn found difficult to transcribe in a work space. The letter he’d decided to stop at tonight was the latter. 

Vaughn adjusted his glasses, and then his gloves, as he read through the letter back in his own home. Just a few lines in, he could already feel the warmth of his own blushing. 

_ Remember our last night together? Hands and lips and the rest of us together? It’s been only days, and yet that separation feels like years to my body and mind. I long for you again, holding you beneath me, warm and soft against my skin.  _

_ Even a simple gaze, your bright eyes staring back into mine and pulling me ever closer to you as I hear you moan and sigh from my movements. Or your fingers, running through my hair as I taste-- _

Vaughn, flushed, aroused, and more than a little embarrassed, put the letter back down on the table. He didn’t want to admit it, but Rhys’s words, despite obviously being meant for someone else, drew out the same feelings of desire in him as they did for their original reader. Vaughn would be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit ashamed of himself, especially as he headed back to his bedroom, pulling off his belt as Rhys’s words burned in his mind. 

Rhys, leaning against the doorframe, watched as Vaughn first undressed, then fumbled around in his dresser before triumphantly pulling out a small bottle of lube. The ghost felt more than a little pleased that his letters still had the same impact as when he’d first written them, especially as he watched Vaughn pull off his glasses, showing off his face clearly. Rhys didn’t get to see this nearly as often as he liked, even if he found him attractive either way. 

_ Pretty eyes _ , Rhys thought, captivated by alluring blue against flushed skin. 

Vaughn, now distracted past considering the moral implications of his current actions, stripped himself of his boxers and uncapped the lube. He squirted some out onto his fingers, warming it slightly before spreading it along his dick. He let out a quiet groan as he first touched himself, giving into the familiar pleasure. 

If Rhys was capable of holding his breath, he would’ve. The expressions Vaughn made reading through his letters was nothing next to the way he looked now, eyes squeezed shut and breathing fast. He wanted to touch him, but running his fingers against Vaughn’s hot skin wasn’t enough for him this time. He needed something different. 

Vaughn wasn’t sure what was happening at first; there was the familiar feeling of Rhys’s touch, then suddenly it was  _ inside _ him. 

_ What’s happening _ ? He asked, but no sound left his mouth, it just echoed around in his head. A moment later he was looking intently at his own left hand, and then heard his voice respond, equally confused. 

“I think I’m inside you?” 

_ Who the hell are you? Oh, shit. Rhys?  _

“Yeah, it’s Rhys. Has anyone told you that you have nice hands before?” Their now shared gaze dropped down to Vaughn’s still erect cock, and Rhys spoke again. “Nice everything, really. I could help with this, if you want.” 

Vaughn was surprised that Rhys didn't seem fazed, and was also a little terrified at the current situation, but if Rhys wanted to touch him, there was no way he was turning that chance down. 

_ How many people can say they’ve hooked up with a ghost, huh?  _

“Just you, that I know of,” Rhys responded, followed by a soft laugh. Even though it was still his voice, Vaughn couldn’t help but think Rhys still managed to make it prettier. Had he ever laughed so sweetly before? 

Vaughn’s pondering was cut short as Rhys took full control, jerking Vaughn off with torturously slow strokes. It wasn’t as fast as he liked, but he’d let Rhys take him as slowly as he wanted. 

Mercifully, Rhys picked up the pace, cautiously adjusting to the feeling of a body and the control of flesh once again. He then failed to stifle a moan, overwhelmed by the pleasure he’d missed for so long. 

Rhys was careful to keep up his rhythm as he took in all of Vaughn’s body, admiring the rest of him. He brought Vaughn’s right hand up to his lips, kissing each knuckle and breathing in his scent deeply. 

Vaughn was glad Rhys was controlling him; if he’d been back in charge, this would’ve been over just at that movement. But it wasn’t, and Rhys continued to revere every part of Vaughn, all while doing his best to keep pleasuring them both. Eventually it was getting to be too much, and the long forgotten feeling of being desperately close to finish caught up to him. 

When he came Rhys did so with a shout, and Vaughn thanked god his neighbors were out of town and couldn’t hear his voice scream out his own name. 

Rhys looked over at the bedside table and pulled a tissue out of its box. 

“Holy shit,” Rhys groaned, cleaning up the mess he’d made. Vaughn, who still lacked any control of his body, wondered how long his body-hitchhiker-slash-lover planned to stay. 

_ I didn’t even know you could do this. _

“Neither did I...but it’s nice to touc-- Nice to talk to you, I mean. Well, both, if I’m being honest.” 

_ How long have you been around? _

“Since you first read started reading the letters. I’m attached to them, I guess. Wherever they go, I go.” 

Vaughn resolved to carry the letter around with him more. Rhys, still in his head, heard this resolution and agreed enthusiastically. 

“I should give you your body back,” Rhys sighed, knowing he should return Vaughn’s agency but already missing the idea of feeling like a human again. 

_ Please don’t leave yet _ .

As strange as it felt, Vaughn liked having Rhys inside him, at least for the moment. He didn’t have anywhere to be for hours, and he didn’t particularly mind the idea of an overnight visitor. 

“Staying inside for a long time doesn’t feel right,” Rhys admitted. He wrapped Vaughn’s arms around them, the closest he could get to actually giving him a hug. “But I’ll still be right beside you. As long as those letters are. Oh, and one last thing, don’t bother feel ashamed about reading them. I know they were written for someone else, but she’s long moved on, if she’s still around at all, and I promise I don’t mind you finding some pleasure in them.” 

Vaughn was embarrassed, but Rhys’s assurance that it was ok to feel connected to them, and to him, gave him a peace of mind he’d long lacked. 

“Thanks,” Vaughn responded. “Oh, guess you’re already gone,” he added, voice falling. An icy force raised goosebumps along his forearms, sending a cold but pleasant shiver through him. “Alright, not gone, just out.” Vaughn leaned back into his bed, falling asleep quickly. 

Vaughn woke up to the second alarm on his phone; he wasn’t usually a deep sleeper, but the paranoia of being late for work had led to him setting extra alarms for every weekday. He could count on one hand how many times it had been necessary, but the days it had been made it worth all the times his phone started buzzing while he was in the middle of brushing his teeth. 

He groaned, stretching his arms, his joints feeling slightly stiff. The more he came to the more he realized he had a sort of general ache. No sharp pain, but a blunt soreness that left his body tender. Even in his head there was an uncomfortable pressure. He rubbed small circles against his temples as he willed the energy to get out of bed. 

“Morning, Rhys,” he said, pulling himself out of bed. He was greeted with a soft, cool touch to the back of his neck. “Hey,” he laughed, pulling the collar of his T-shirt a little higher to cover his sensitive skin. 

Rhys grinned as he watched Vaughn readjust the fabric. He continued to ogle as the museum employee got ready for the day, standing near the bed as he saw Vaughn conduct his morning ritual. Rhys had noticed that every morning before work was strictly regimented. Get dressed, brush his teeth, take a shower, make breakfast; impressively everything always happened within a minute or two of the day before. Rhys didn’t think he’d ever followed a schedule so closely in his life. Then again, he’d also never had a digital clock 5 feet away.


	4. Chapter 4

Vaughn decided to stop by one of the coffee shops near the museum on the way into work. He picked up two lattes, which Rhys eyed sadly. He would’ve liked to sit beside Vaughn, sharing them at one of the little wooden tables with the tiny boxes holding packets of...sugar?

Rhys followed Vaughn into a part of the museum that he had yet to see. It looked like a hall of offices, but that were newer and cleaner than Vaughn’s. This whole area of the museum seemed like it had been an add on, or at least remodeled, with real tile and bright lights. It was much more modern, but lacked the elements of the old office that Rhys found cozy. 

Vaughn knocked on the closest door, and it swung open after several seconds. 

“Hey, Yvette,” he stepped in, closing the door behind himself. She returned to her own desk and gestured for him to sit in the chair across from her. 

Yvette’s office was better suited to conversation than Vaughn’s. More seating, less clutter, and an actual lock on the door. Before recently Vaughn hadn’t considered that too much of a bother, but these days he was starting to reconsider. 

Vaughn set one of the cups of coffee down on her desk and slid it toward her carefully. 

“Coffee? Thanks,” she reached out, taking it with a smile. She took a sip, and for a moment seemed to be enjoying herself, before stopping to look back at him. 

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” She asked, her eyes scanning his face carefully. 

“Huh? Nothing, really. What do you mean?” 

Yvette looked between her latte and the one in his hand. “It’s not every day you stop by and bring me a drink for the hell of it, Vaughn,” she said. “Please tell me this doesn’t have anything to do with you and those letters.” 

“What? Why would you say that?” He asked, shifting the cardboard guard around his cup, avoiding her eyes. 

“You were being weird when you got them, and now you’re acting weird again. I don’t get what you like about them so much, they’re just some old pieces of paper. But if you came in here to tell me whatever got you so excited about them, go ahead I guess,” she sighed. 

“There’s really nothing to tell,” Vaughn lied, taking too long a sip of coffee. He winced, the hot liquid burning his tongue. 

“Sure,” Yvette responded, voice flat. “Why don’t you either tell me what you’re up to or get back to work.” 

Vaughn stared down at his cup. He’d been close with Yvette for years now, but this would test the limits of any friendship. She probably wouldn’t even believe him. Maybe she’d proddingly ask when he’d last been to see his therapist. 

Still, keeping a secret this big from Yvette made him itch, deep under the skin. He squeezed his cup a little too tight, and started to speak, his mouth already feeling dry. The words came slow, sticking on their way out. 

“Do you believe in ghosts, Yvette? And I know this is gonna sound dumb, but, just bare with me for a bit.” 

“Ghosts?” She asked. She readjusted her glasses, allowing herself a better view of his face. “They’re made up Vaughn. If they were real don’t you think we’d have seen something in here by now?” 

“Um, ok, just listen to me for a moment, please. Those letters? They came with someone attached. They’re real, Yvette.” 

She brought both her hands to her face, first blocking the sight of him and pressing against the bridge of her glasses with two fingers. Then her eyes were closed, and her expression was unreadable. 

“Get out,” she said, finally. She didn’t sound angry, but something else he couldn’t identify. Too even, too steady, and too cold. 

“What? I’m not fini--” 

Yvette cut him off with her own words, “I said get out. If you don’t want to tell me what’s going on with you that’s fine, but don’t lie to my face.” 

“I’m not lying,” Vaughn protested. “Rhys, do that thing, touch her hand or something,” he pleaded. 

Rhys complied, reaching out with two fingers to touch the back of Yvette’s hand. She brought it away from her face, and stared at it intently. 

“How the hell did you do that?” She asked, eyes wide. 

“I told you! It’s the guy who wrote those letters. Rhys.” 

Yvette shook her head in disbelief. “Do you hear yourself, Vaughn? You’re telling me that in this room is the ghost of a dude who wrote a bunch of shitty love letters a hundred years ago?” 

Rhys crossed his arms, irked at her description of his writing. He walked to stand near her, making the space cold and uncomfortable. She shivered in response, and quickly rolled her chair away from him. She looked in the general direction he was, and with as steady a voice as she could manage, muttered, “leave me alone.” 

Rhys backed off, returning to Vaughn’s side. 

“Do you believe me now?” 

Yvette rolled her chair back into its usual spot. “Do I really have a choice?” 

Vaughn wouldn’t say he was exactly happy with how Yvette found out about Rhys, nor had he really explained their current relationship, but at least it wasn’t his secret alone anymore. He debated speaking to her again later, but decided that revealing the extent of his connection to Rhys, at least for now, would do more harm than good. 

Vaughn packed up his belongings as he prepared to leave work, slipping in Rhys’s letter along with an extra pair of gloves. He left the museum, but instead of heading home, he started walking back to the graveyard. The gate was closed now, but still unlocked. He pressed his hands against the cold iron, shoving it hard enough for the hinges to squeak at the sudden force. 

The ground underneath his feet was damp. Wet mud clung to the bottom of his shoes and caked up the side as he traversed the old path toward the mausoleum. 

Rhys followed close behind Vaughn, wondering what he was up to. He was glad that he’d have the chance to see Fiona again, but he wasn’t sure who this trip was really for. 

The pair stepped into the old building, only Vaughn’s shoes clicking against the slightly cracked marble at the door frame. He continued to the center of the room, past the high windows that gave the slightest view of the trees and tombstones outside. For a moment as he’d walked past the other graves he’d wondered if there were others like Rhys around, watching people come and go, unable to communicate.

“Hey, look who's back,” Fiona waved from across the room. “Surprised to see him come here again,” she gestured to Vaughn. 

“Well, we’ve come to a sort of understanding recently,” Rhys responded. Fiona narrowed her eyes in response. 

“ _ Understanding? _ You can’t even talk to him.” 

“For the most part I don’t need to. But it turns out we can anyway, because I was inside him last night.” If Rhys was still capable of flushing at his own words he would’ve, but luckily for him Fiona took the phrase at its less intimate meaning. 

“We can possess people? We could do that this whole time?” 

“It’s exhausting as hell, Fi. Not really a long term thing. Plus they’re aware of you the entire time.” 

Fiona put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed gently. “Rhys, we could find out what happened to Sasha if we climbed in some people. We could actually touch stuff.” 

Rhys brushed her off. “It’s too hard to maintain. Not to mention I would rather just ask Vaughn nicely than treat him like a spare body.” 

Fiona shrugged. “I guess. If you think that’ll work. But remember that we have a chance to finally get out of here. Don’t waste it because you’re attached to someone still living their life.” 

Rhys looked down. “I don’t feel like I’m wasting anything when I’m with him.” 

Vaughn pulled the extra pair of gloves out of his bag. Along with them, he pulled out a pack of sanitizing wipes. The state of the mausoleum had bothered him last time, and he’d taken it upon himself to try and clean up the space, at least a little. 

He took out the first wipe and scrubbed circles against the windowpane. When he first lifted it, there was a clear circle where he’d been cleaning, surrounded by the light grey of stagnant dust. As he continued clearing the mess he sneezed after accidentally inhaling a significant number of the now free particles. 

Once he was done with the window panes he moved on to the window sills, leaving the wood and glass clear and cleaner than they’d been in years. The museum must not have bothered with any upkeep since they’d come into ownership of the building. 

Not much had changed in between his last visit and this one, except that there was now a paper label on one of the burial vaults. He’d passed along Rhys’s name, and suggested that the second person may be Sasha, although he was still unsure there. The person labelling them had apparently decided to only bother with Rhys’s, at least until the other was certain. 

Vaughn started with the grave that wasn’t Rhys’s, removing the outer layer of grime that had built up as the vault sat empty for years. Fiona, watching from a distance, smiled at the change. “He does brighten things up around here, I’ll give you that, Rhys.” 

Once Vaughn was apparently satisfied with that job, he moved on to Rhys’s. He stretched toward the other side as he cleaned, and Rhys watched appreciatively. He was enjoying the view of Vaughn, sleeves rolled up, hands gloved, lavishing his grave with the attention he’d never imagined it would get. 

Vaughn pulled away from the cement, rubbing sweat and dust from his face. He looked down at the vault in front of him, and ran his fingers underneath the edge. He could draw his hand across it easily, the surface smooth to the touch. 

He lingered there for a moment, hand against cool cement. He had the beginning of an idea, and attempted to banish the thought from his mind. However, curiosity was quickly getting the better of him. No matter how much he knew about Rhys, he’d never  _ seen _ any of him. 

“I...I just want to see you,” he said aimlessly, hoping Rhys understood. 

Vaughn pulled up at the cement slab with all his strength, and to his surprise it swung up with a low rumble. He found himself looking down at a plain wooden coffin, the only details on which were cheap brass accents. He brought one hand to the top, brushing his fingertips against it carefully. 

  
“You deserve something nicer than this,” he whispered.

Vaughn slipped a finger further down to tug gently at the top of the casket. Once again, he felt a little give. He reached down further, now with both hands, sliding them down to pull at the lid. As he felt it begin to move he hesitated, wondering if he really wanted to see what was inside. 

Rhys and Fiona watched from across the room, both unsure what to make of the sight. 

Vaughn, a few shades paler than normal, made up his mind and pulled hard, swinging up the top of the casket into the vault with a loud thud. He jumped back, frightened by the sudden sound, then approached the casket again. 

Rhys hadn’t seen his body in awhile. For most of the time he’d been trapped with Fiona, the two had agreed not to look unless necessary. The first days hadn’t been so bad, aside from how strange it was to look down and see themselves. However, decomposition had soon started, and watching as their vessels to the world decayed at their feet had been a constant, painful reminder of all they’d lost. Rhys wasn’t sure how many years it had been since he’d chosen to look at himself. 

For a moment Vaughn just stared down into the wooden box, the view of Rhys’s body hidden from both its owner and Fiona by the side of the vault. Rhys took a hesitant step forward, wondering what he looked like now. It set in for the first time that Vaughn really had no idea what he looked like, and this would be the first, and most likely only image he’d ever have to imagine Rhys from. 

Vaughn felt the cold of Rhys’s presence as he stared down. For a moment the two just watched, completely silent, before Vaughn finally spoke again. 

“You were pretty tall,” he said. 

The rising fear in Rhys that Vaughn would leave disgusted, horrified at the mess that remained behind, settled quickly. Such a mundane statement; Vaughn looked down at the yellowed, splintering bone that had once held carried Rhys’s heart and simply came up with  _ you were pretty tall _ . 

Rhys laughed. Fiona grimaced. Vaughn reached out and pressed a gloved finger to Rhys’s temple. 

Even through the latex glove, Vaughn could feel every smooth edge or raised bump. He ran a finger around the back of Rhys’s skull, and felt a sudden dip. His glove caught on a rough edge, and he adjusted to see the spot. There was a hole, even and round. 

Vaughn pulled his finger back, careful not to brush against any of the chipping bone. He’d never thought too much about how Rhys had died. As unpleasant as it was, at least it looked like it had been quick. Painless, maybe. 

Rhys watched as Vaughn pulled away from the bullet hole in his head. It had all been over so fast, just Fiona yelling at someone else for a moment, and then nothing. He’d been so confused when her eyes had first slid away from him, focusing on something, no,  _ someone _ else behind him. And then it was over, and she had a hole in the front of her head to match with the one in the back of his. 

“It’s weird seeing yourself again, isn’t it?” Fiona asked, putting her hand on Rhys’s shoulder. He nodded. 

Vaughn’s gaze lingered for a minute before he finally closed the lid of the casket again. He followed that by lowering the vault lid back into place as slowly as he could. He pulled off his gloves and slipped them back into his bag haphazardly. 

“Guess we’re on our way out,” Rhys said, hugging Fiona tight for a moment before letting go to follow Vaughn. 

“Remember the situation we’re in,” she called out after him as the couple left. 


	5. Chapter 5

Vaughn didn’t have much planned for later, just a normal night in. He made himself dinner, sat alone at the little kitchen table, and played around with his phone as he absentmindedly picked at the salad in his bowl. Rhys wondered how he managed to spend so much time on his own. When he was alive, dinner was almost always attended by coworkers or potential clients. A night alone was rare, and if he was honest, something he feared. He’d never liked the silence of an empty home. 

After dinner Vaughn washed his dishes and got ready for bed, dressing down into a t-shirt, boxers, and a pair of slippers. The floor was always a little colder than he liked this time of year. 

Vaughn looked out his bedroom window to see the leaves fluttering in strong winds. He could only make out the closest branches, everything else obscured by the dark blanketing the street. Vaughn closed the blinds carefully, adjusting the bottom that always fell crooked. Once he was satisfied he crossed the room and pulled a waiting book off of his nightstand. 

He removed the bookmark from halfway through the first chapter. He hadn’t gotten far in it, not with all the distractions around him lately. As he settled in and started reading he felt ice along his skin, and realized he probably wasn’t getting much further that day. 

“Hey,” Vaughn said, dropping the book onto the other half of the bed carelessly. He could feel a buzz in the air that quickly dissipated as Rhys slipped into his body. 

“Hey,” Rhys smiled back. “Interesting trip to the cemetery today.” 

_ Sorry, I shouldn’t have done...that.  _

“I don’t mind,” Rhys replied. “I can tell you more about what I really looked like, if you want.” 

_ Please, _ Vaughn thought. 

“I had brown eyes, brown hair too, but sort of reddish, if you can imagine that. I also had tattoos, from here,” Rhys pointed with Vaughn’s right arm to the top of his left shoulder. “And they went all the way down to the wrist, on that arm. On the other I had a prosthetic; I don’t know if you noticed the missing arm earlier.” 

_ I thought maybe it got seperated or lost. Your prosthetic might be in the basement of the museum, if it was still with you.  _

Vaughn felt his head shake with Rhys’s movement. “It was taken a long time ago, by the man that killed me. And Fiona, of course.” 

_ Fiona...is that who was buried with you? We haven’t been able to figure it out.  _

Rhys nodded again. “Yeah, that’s her. She’s still trapped here as well, just in her case she’s attached to her actual body, so she’s been stuck at the graveyard. I couldn’t really tell you earlier, but that’s what I like to go back for. She’s all alone in that room.” 

_ Oh, that makes sense. But, uh, that means she saw everything earlier? _

Vaughn was glad he wasn’t currently capable of blushing. He felt embarrassed enough about what he’d done, but the fact that there had been an additional unwitting viewer made him feel even worse. 

“Don’t stress about it,” Rhys said, running a hand through Vaughn’s hair soothingly. Vaughn relaxed a little, but Rhys could feel that he was still tense. 

Rhys pulled Vaughn’s glasses off and set them on the nightstand, then used one hand to rub slow circles against his shoulder. 

“Here, just calm down a bit,” they leaned back against the layered pillows on Vaughn’s bed. Rhys loved the feeling of sinking into them. They were softer than anything he’d ever had, and in Vaughn’s body, so much smaller than his own, it felt like he could disappear into them and never come out. 

Rhys stretched, observing the muscles of Vaughn’s calves, then the sharp jut of his slim ankle bones. 

_ What are you staring for? _ Vaughn wondered. 

“Just appreciating the view,” Rhys responded, trailing his touch from the edge of Vaughn’s thigh up to his hips. Through the thin fabric of Vaughn’s t-shirt, Rhys could feel the heat of his skin. Rhys craved it, more than he’d care to admit, but Vaughn knew his thoughts just as much as Rhys knew Vaughn’s. 

_ Go ahead _ , Vaughn thought, waiting for Rhys to make a move. He did, pushing himself away from the pillows for long enough to pull the t-shirt over Vaughn’s head and toss it onto the wooden floor. Rhys ran Vaughn’s hand over his stomach, then further up to feel where his ribs stuck out from the rest of his skin. They shivered in unison at the relaxed, voyeuristic touches. 

Rhys brought Vaughn’s hand to the elastic of his boxers, increasing the tension in the fabric as he started to slip one finger underneath. 

“Is this ok?” Rhys asked, waiting. 

_ Yeah, please, _ Vaughn thought. 

“Got anything specific in mind? Or just like last time?” 

Vaughn considered it for a moment, then directed Rhys to a dresser drawer. He opened it, and inside found several toys and a half empty bottle of lube. Rhys decided he liked the second the most, and grabbed it along with the bottle. He squeezed the silicone toy, finding it pliant in his hand. For a moment he was caught up in the excitement of the material, squeezing and gently releasing, but Vaughn urged him back to the bed. 

_ Come on, _ Vaughn thought. _ I want this now.  _

  
  


The next morning hit Vaughn hard. He climbed out of bed to brush his teeth, but stopped to adjust the now uneven sheets. The first thing he noticed about himself was the slight pain of the pale scratches that ran up one thigh. He flushed at the memory of how they got there, then groaned as wave a pain shot through his skull. It was gone just as fast as it arrived, but it still left him wincing as he clutched at his headboard. 

Rhys reached out to steady him reflexively, but quickly pulled back as he realized that all he’d succeeded in doing was making Vaughn shiver on top of his stumbling. Rhys watched his partner rub at his temple with one hand before releasing the bed with the other. He seemed steadier on his feet now, but took the trip across the room to the bathroom slowly. 

Vaughn yawned and swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, his throat painfully dry. He pushed the sliding bathroom door open all the way, and immediately leaned against the porcelain sink. 

Vaughn reached down and turned on the hot water tap, then bent over to sip straight from the faucet. For a moment it tasted metallic, liquid that lingered overnight within the pipes. He didn’t care, parched enough not to mind the strange flavor. He felt water run in streams over his skin, down his face and dripping off into the base of the sink. Finally, he bent away and rubbed the remaining droplets off with the back of his hand. 

He felt sated for the moment, but it wasn’t until then that he saw his face. Dark circles lined his eyes, black against light blue. Doing his best to ignore the exhaustion clear on his face, he reached forward for his toothbrush and began his normal morning routine. 

Vaughn stepped into his kitchen, starting to make himself a cup of coffee. He opened a cabinet, shifted around several different blends of coffee, and finally withdrew the one he wanted. He went to close the door but froze, seeing a flash of someone standing behind him. It wasn’t enough for him to discern any real detail, just a person in black. Nervous and confused, he turned to where they were standing. 

There was no one there, just some old blankets on top of the couch. Vaughn took in a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. He’d just imagined it, nothing to get too upset about. 

Rhys, standing on the other side of the room, only saw Vaughn flinch. He wondered what he’d seen, but apparently Vaughn wasn’t too concerned, as he went right back to making his drink. 

Rhys couldn’t help feeling worried about Vaughn’s behavior that morning. He’d never seen him so jumpy, even if it seemed like he was adjusting back to normal now. Rhys hoped it was just an off day, but he was starting to suspect that the problem ran deeper. 


	6. Chapter 6

Vaughn was laying on his couch, sipping his drink and trying to wake up when he heard a sudden ding from his phone. He pulled it out to see a text from Yvette, asking if he wanted to meet up for lunch and talk. He agreed hesitantly, having a pretty good idea of what it was she wanted to speak about. The plans came together quickly, enough so that he didn’t realize it was already around 11:30. 

A loud knock on the door startled Vaughn, who had been lounging around for the last half hour in his living room. He checked the time and realized it was already noon, then stood up quickly and dashed for the door. 

Vaughn quickly undid the lock, pulling on the metal handle and revealing himself, only half dressed, to Yvette. 

“Sorry, come on in, I’ll be ready in like 5 minutes,” he panted, out of breath from the trip between rooms. 

  
“Sure, whatever,” Yvette replied, stepping in. She kicked off her shoes and locked the door for him, allowing him to quickly slip back to his bedroom. She sat down on the couch he’d previously been resting on, clicking off the TV that had been running in the background. 

“Hey,” she called from the living room. “Is he...here? Right now?” 

“Yeah,” Vaughn yelled back, sputtering at the end of the word, his throat still unpleasantly dry. 

Yvette shifted, still uncertain how she felt about Vaughn’s news. She didn’t like the idea of being watched by someone invisible. To her it was an absolute invasion of privacy, and she couldn’t understand why Vaughn would willingly put himself through it. 

“I don’t know if you can hear me right now,” she said under her breath, “but if you can, I want you to promise you won’t hurt him.” 

Vaughn stepped out of his bedroom, now fully dressed in a plain shirt and pair of jeans. His glasses sat uneven on his face, and his hair was visibly disheveled. He seemed aware of this, and ran his fingers through it to flatten it back down as much as possible. He succeeded, to some degree, but a few stray strands continued to stick out aimlessly. 

The two walked into the entrance where Yvette pulled her shoes back on, and then the pair exited to make their way to lunch. Vaughn didn’t take Rhys’s letter, deciding that Yvette would probably feel more comfortable saying what she wanted to without his presence. 

“I’m glad you’re leaving him behind, at least for a bit,” she began. “I don’t think its healthy for you to be taking that letter with you everywhere. It’s not...” she paused, searching for the word. “It’s not natural, Vaughn. You can’t even interact with him, so what’s the point of bringing the stupid letter anyway?” 

Vaughn debated how much to tell her. If she wanted him to give up having Rhys around at all, she sure as hell wasn’t going to be ok with their current relationship. At the same time he wondered that if she really knew how he felt, maybe she’d understand, or at least tolerate the situation. Then again, there wasn’t much she could really do to stop him. 

_ Unless she tells our boss that I took the letter.  _ The thought shot through him like a bullet through bone.  _ She wouldn’t do that to me, right? _

“Listen, Yvette, there’s a lot about this that I haven’t told you. I didn’t want to bring it up earlier, but Rhys and I are sort of...together. We can interact, it’s just only through possession, which is kinda hard for hi--” 

Yvette cut him off. “Possession, Vaughn? Are you fucking kidding me? Is that why you look like a disaster right now?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he waved her off. 

“Please,” she shot back, fuming. “You answer the door out of it, you look like you haven’t slept in a week, and you’ve been isolating yourself from everyone at work.” Her voice faltered, shifting from anger to despondency. “I heard you went to the graveyard again, too. I know you don’t like it there, so why?” 

“I was visiting him,” Vaughn said. Yvette adjusted her glasses as cover to avert her eyes, suddenly focusing on anything else around them. 

Vaughn reached out and placed one hand gently on her shoulder. “I’m fine, Yvette. There’s nothing wrong.” 

“You can say that as much as you want. It doesn’t make it true,” she pushed his hand away. He withdrew it quickly, surprised. Their friendship had never been strongly physically affectionate, but he wasn’t sure he could remember another time when either had refused contact. 

“Ok, maybe I’ve been a little out of it for a few days, but that’s not that unusual for this time of year. I mean, it’s winter, no sun, everyone is always sick anyway. It’s just a coincidence, so stop reading so much into it.” 

Yvette stopped walking entirely. “I’m not going to stand here and let you tell me that I’m imagining this, Vaughn. I’m trying to help you, as a  _ living person _ that cares about you. But I guess if you can’t accept that I’m not going to waste my time trying to drill it into your head,” she clutched her bag.

“Forget lunch. I’ll see you Monday,” she said, turning to head the other way. 

Vaughn stood alone in the middle of the street, waiting as she walked away. He watched cars fly by on the street for a few minutes, debating what to do next. In the end, he settled on heading home, going slowly down the street. Although he spent plenty of time walking to and from work on a normal day, it was unusual he got the time to really enjoy being outside. The air was crisp, pleasant. He thought about opening a few windows when he got home, but the concept of shutting off the heater for any period of time had become increasingly unpleasant in the last few weeks. 

When Vaughn made it to his front door he reached into his pocket for his keys, but found it empty. For a moment he was confused, wondering when he’d dropped them, before realizing that he’d never picked them up that morning at all. He sighed and pulled out the spare hidden outside, then let himself in. 

Stepping inside he was first greeted by the comforting cloud of warm air, then the sudden icy touch of Rhys by his side. He smiled and locked the door. 

“Guess I’m back,” Vaughn said. “Yvette’s not too happy about you.” 

“Short lunch,” Rhys replied, as if they could carry on a normal conversation. 

“She’s so freaked out about it! I guess I was too, at first. Maybe she’ll warm up to us over time,” Vaughn pushed up his glasses, rubbing at the corners of his eyes. “I wish we could be together like normal people, Rhys.” 

Rhys frowned and ran his fingertips against the side of Vaughn’s face, earning a small wince. For some reason, it seemed that no matter who he cared for, they always ended up suffering in the end. 

Sasha, forced into the punishing position of choosing between the only family she had and being by his side. 

Vaughn, aching and broken over being unable to exchange something as little as a word. 

Rhys wondered if they’d have been better off without him. 

Still, it was hard for him to even consider leaving. He followed Vaughn back into his bedroom, where the shorter man pulled off his belt and shoes and dropped back into bed, still almost fully dressed. 

Vaughn pulled his knees to his chest, curling up tight and thinking about Yvette’s words earlier. He still wasn’t sure if he believed her, he certainly didn’t want to, but he also hated how upset he’d made her. She’d come to him with only genuine concern and he’d pushed her away, haughty and condescending. He pulled off his glasses and dropped them on the nightstand as he felt tears welling up. 

Vaughn pulled out his phone, vision blurry, and managed to navigate to his messages with Yvette. His fingers hovered over the onscreen keys, trembling and uncertain. He wasn’t sure how to begin to apologize, so he just stayed that way, frozen yet shaking. 

He stared until the bright light of the phone burned his bleary eyes, desperate to come up with something to say, before finally giving up and dropping the device onto his blanket.

Exhausted, physically and emotionally, Vaughn crawled fully into bed. He heard the loud thunk of his phone hitting the floor, but didn’t bother looking for it, instead pulling the covers over his face. For a moment the heat and pressure was comforting, but then it started to become too much, and he felt himself getting more desperate for fresh air. He clutched the sheets tighter, wetting the fabric with his tears. His eyes and lungs burned, for each their own reason, and he finally relented and pulled down the covers, breathing in deeply. 

Vaughn sniffled and grabbed for a tissue, cleaning up the mess of mucus and tears clinging to his face. He took a moment to collect himself, then leaned over to the floor to pick up his phone. 

_ Sorry about being a dick earlier. Thank you for looking out for me _

Vaughn frowned at the text, but he’d already sent it, impulsively. Not much of an apology, or at least not enough, but he wasn’t sure what else to say. No matter what he considered writing, he felt the sentiment was undermined by refusing to give up Rhys and the letter. 

As it stood, giving up Rhys wasn’t an option. 

The next few days were grating for Vaughn. He and Yvette exchanged only a few short messages, and her replies tended to be curt. Going back to the museum wasn’t much better, but at least they spoke face to face. She mostly focused on work, hinting heavily that his boss wanted him done with the letters soon. He’d given a half-hearted promise that he was getting close, then returned to his space on the other side of the museum. 

Normally he enjoyed the solitude of his office, but without Yvette’s friendly visits it was starting to feel lonely. He knew Rhys was around, but even his presence wasn’t comforting enough for Vaughn to relax. He hungered for the connection he failed to have. 

Work ended. Yvette didn’t stop by. Vaughn grabbed Rhys’s letter and his bag and headed out the door. 

Vaughn was prepared for it to be dark outside, but he didn't expect the new moon. Only the streetlights lit the way that night, warm orange against cool black reflecting on the ever damp street. He felt water soak into his shoes as he stepped in a particularly deep puddle, and tried to ignore the squishing of damp fabric underneath his feet. 

When he reached the cemetery gate he closed his hand around one bar of the iron fence. It had been painted long ago to protect the metal, but now it was chipping, and he could feel thin flakes rub off against his dry skin. Underneath the exposed metal was beginning to rust and corrode, and Vaughn could smell it on his flesh after he let go. 

He dragged on, his shoes already damp and now further muddied by the poorly kempt path in the graveyard. A few leaves that had fallen late stuck to him as well, curled and half crunched into bits underneath rubber treads. 

Vaughn let himself into the mausoleum, trailing mud across the marble floor. On another day it would’ve bothered him, a disrespect to Rhys and Fiona that he hated to be the cause of. 

He dropped his bag by the door, immediately heading for the center of the room. Rhys and Fiona watched, both puzzled by his drive. He was determined, but appeared so tired. Desperate, but focused. 

Vaughn returned to the side of Rhys’s burial vault, and this time pushed it up with ungloved hands. He did not hesitate at the sight of the casket, pulling it open with as much force as he could muster, revealing Rhys’s body once again. 

The casket itself was wide, particularly for only bone. Vaughn, small as he was, was easily capable of crawling down to sit inside it. He pulled his feet close, back pressed against the side of the vault and shoes against the other side of the casket. The mud he’d tracked in dirtied the fabric lining the coffin, leaving white stained with dark, earthy brown. Vaughn could smell fresh soil and decay, along with the lingering scent of the rusted gate. 

He reached down, fingers trembling, and lifted Rhys’s skull into his hand. It had been long separated from his spine, and was easy to lift. He looked into the empty pits that had once been his eyes, then the rough edged triangle that had once held the cartilage of his nose. He cradled it close to his chest, breathing in hard and trying to stem the flow of tears that threatened to drip out of him. 

Vaughn failed to regain the control he craved, coughing and sobbing and feeling the sharp edges of Rhys’s skull dig into his chest. He brought the top of the bone to his lips, kissing Rhys’s forehead as if they were any other lovers. He withdrew it just as quickly, afraid and aware that he wasn’t alone, but completely lost in what to do. 

Yvette? 

Rhys? 

They both loved him; and he loved them both as well. But he found himself here, and wondered if that meant he’d made a choice. 

Fiona stood over him, watching. Rhys leaned over to touch Vaughn’s face, make him aware of his presence and try to comfort him in the little ways he could. 

“What did you do to him, Rhys?” Fiona asked. 

“I didn’t do anything,” he responded, tilting his head to to take in the details of Vaughn’s face. His eyes were squeezed shut behind dirty glass, and the skin around his nose was irritated and raw. Rhys wished there was something he could do to soothe him. Hold him, tell him it would all be ok and they’d work it out. 

“Listen, Rhys, I know you two care about each other. But this?” She pointed down at Vaughn. “This isn’t healthy for him. The best thing we can do is have him help us move on. At least it’ll be closure, you know?” 

Rhys pulled away from Vaughn and turned to Fiona. “I’m not ready to leave. He needs me, Fiona.” He paused. “I need him.” 

“Look at him, Rhys. Really look at him. Is this how he’s supposed to spend the rest of his life?” 

Rhys looked down at Vaughn’s small form, curled up and quivering between the freezing pieces of cement and the rough fabric of his casket. He looked at the tears he couldn’t wipe away, and listening to the shaking sobs he couldn’t calm. 


	7. Chapter 7

After they left the cemetery, Rhys considered his conversation with Fiona. Maybe she was right, and asking Vaughn to help them move on was the right idea. At the same time, he feared that he’d be misunderstood. The concept of leaving Vaughn feeling used, just a tool for his escape, shredded him from the inside out. 

That night he spent by Vaughn’s side, a silent guardian of his sleep. He took in the sight of his slow, steady breathing, even and relaxed unlike anything he’d seen from him in days. The more he thought about it the more he started to understand what Fiona was saying. Vaughn’s behavior had been increasingly erratic of late. He figured that being around him wasn’t too bad, but possession, those moments of intimacy that they both longed for the most, were difficult for himself and destructive for Vaughn. He decided then to avoid it, as much as he could. He’d take the next chance to talk to Vaughn, and then he’d stay out of him, whenever possible. 

Days went by, and Rhys kept a close eye on Vaughn’s behavior and appearance. He seemed to be better, the dark circles lightening up, raw skin repairing. He didn’t go back to the cemetery either, focusing instead on getting further through Rhys’s letters and finally finishing that book he’d started reading. 

Vaughn even invited Yvette over to watch some cheesy movie together, and while Rhys could still sense some unacknowledged tension, the two seemed to be getting along again. At first Rhys just enjoyed the movie, impressed at the special effects, but he found himself getting more and more distracted as time went on. Yvette would make some snarky comment, and Vaughn would laugh, and Rhys couldn’t help but watch how he smiled. Stunning and bright, full of life his eyes had lacked of late. 

When the film finally ended Vaughn clicked off the TV and stood up, taking an empty bowl of popcorn with him. 

“You want anything else? There’s still a little more in the bag,” Vaughn shook the popcorn bag, and heard the last remaining pieces and kernels roll around against the buttery paper. 

“I’m good,” Yvette responded, still lounging on the couch. “Glad we finally got around to watching this. How long have we been putting it off? A month or so?” 

“It’s been a busy time,” Vaughn responded nonchalantly, trying to skirt around the potential confrontation. “Not sure I’d say it’s been worth the wait.” 

Yvette laughed. “Yeah, you’re right. It did kinda suck,” she swung her legs off of the couch and stood up. “Think I’ll head out before it starts getting too late.” 

Vaughn shut the door behind her once she stepped out, locking it with a firm click. 

“Just you and me again,” Vaughn said, hoping that Rhys was near enough to hear him speak. “Is it just me, or does it always feel so empty at home once your friends have just left?” 

Vaughn spent the next hour or so cleaning up the couches, washing leftover dishes, and finishing the other chores he’d been putting off recently. Once satisfied with his work, he turned and looked at the clock. It wasn’t particularly late, but he was a little extra drowsy from the agreeable combination of fresh popcorn, warm blankets, and his second beer. 

He layed back in bed, aware that Rhys was around but feeling a little lonely. Having someone in the same space was nice, but there were still no words exchanged. No warmth from someone holding him as he slept, or lazily looping an arm around his waist as he worked. 

Vaughn closed his eyes, imagining Rhys sitting next to him. In his mind, Rhys was leaning against his palm, watching him and smiling softly. Maybe he’d whisper some of those sweet things he’d usually reserved for his letters, or just lean over and kiss him, once, twice, a show of affection asking for nothing more. He brought his fingers to his lips, the closest he could get to the real thing. 

“Rhys,” he mumbled, fingers muffling the sound, momentarily lost in his own fantasy. He snapped back into reality a second later, but was no longer in control. 

“Sorry, just seemed like an invitation,” Rhys said, bringing Vaughn’s hand up to brush his hair out of his face. 

_ You’re always welcome here _ , Vaughn thought, curled up in the back of his own mind.  _ I wish we got to talk more _ . 

“It takes a lot of energy for me to do. Plus, you seemed pretty out of it after the last time.” 

If he was capable of it, Vaughn would’ve waved Rhys off. Sure, he’d been thoroughly tired, but oversleeping and being a little on edge wasn’t unheard of, plus he’d been fine after.  _ It’s not a problem _ , he thought. _ What are your plans for me tonight?  _

“I needed to talk to you,” Rhys admitted. Shame and guilt shook his speech.

As much as Rhys enjoyed his time with Vaughn, there was an ever-crushing pressure that told him he didn’t belong. Sometimes he could ignore it, but sometimes it burned through him, telling him to hurry up, figure out his problems, move on. He knew Fiona had the same issue, and that her suffering was often worse than his. 

“Fiona and I are here, and we all know we aren’t meant to be. But, maybe, if you found out what happened to Sasha, we could leave.” 

Vaughn wanted to hide how much that hurt, but it was impossible when Rhys read his thoughts and felt the betrayal he tried to suppress. Of course he still cared about Sasha, still thought about her, still wanted to return to her. The inability to hide his feelings, combined with disappointment turning to anger, caused a short outburst he knew he’d regret.

_ You’re only with me so I’ll help you, right? _

“That’s not true, Vaughn. Please, don’t ever think I don’t care about you.” 

_ But you don’t love me, because you love her, and you have to move on one day and I understand that, but I just _ ...Vaughn knew he was rambling, but he was hurt, and he needed Rhys to hear everything while he could still respond. __

_ I just thought that for once someone wanted me back.  _

They could both feel tears rising, and both believed them to be their own. Rhys grabbed a tissue and wiped them away as carefully as he could. He tried not to rub against Vaughn’s skin too hard, frightened of hurting him any more than he already had. 

“I do want you back. More than I can ever show you, at least like this. So don’t think you aren’t loved, Vaughn, but I’m not meant to be here,” he murmured. 

_ I’m afraid to lose you, Rhys.  _

“Lose me? You aren’t losing me, Vaughn. I won’t be here, but don’t think that means I’ll ever stop thinking of you.” 

_ It’s not going to be the same _ , Vaughn thought, begging in his own mind. 

“That’s for the better. You need someone who is supposed to be here, who can give you everything that I can’t. Then one day we’ll find each other again, when we’re meant to.” 

_ Promise?  _

“I promise,” Rhys said, with greater confidence than any of the other words he’d spoken that night. “And who knows how long it’ll take to find out anything about Sasha. There’s a chance I’m not leaving at all, so don’t think I’m in some hurry to get away from you, ok?” 

_ And we can do this again?  _

“Any time you’re up for it,” Rhys responded, curling a finger under the edge of Vaughn’s shirt. “And until I have to leave, we can do whatever  _ you _ want.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind comments! They all mean a lot to me :)


	8. Chapter 8

Vaughn woke the next morning with a familiar chill, but this time it didn’t fade. He reached an arm out, grabbing at the extra blanket under his bed. He managed to find the edge, but his grip was weak, and he could barely shift it. He readjusted, putting one leg on the floor and tugging again. Pulling the fabric over himself seemed to take all the energy he had left. 

The extra warmth did little for him, but the further exhaustion weighed heavily over him, and he closed his eyes. He knew he had to call in sick, but even walking across the room for his phone seemed impossible. Before he could worry any further, he’d fallen back asleep. 

Rhys watched from the corner of the room, concerned. Sure, Vaughn seemed sluggish after possession before, but this was something else. He was pale, sweating, and struggling with small movements. 

Rhys sat beside Vaughn on the bed, watching the blankets rise and fall with his shallow breathing. With nothing he could do but observe, Rhys stayed by his side, looking for any changes but aware that if anything did happen, there was no way for him to help. 

Vaughn slept for a few more hours, waking only to Yvette’s fourth call. He’d gained enough strength to pull himself to the cell phone, leaning against the wall with one hand. He unplugged the charging cable with shaking hands and held the device close as he stumbled back to bed. Once under the covers again, he listened to several messages Yvette had left behind. 

7:10 AM, YVETTE: 

“Are you coming in? I haven’t seen you and everyone says you didn’t call in either? Text me.” 

9:13 AM, YVETTE: 

“Where the hell are you, Vaughn? You’ve never missed a day like this before. Call me back.” 

11:23 AM, YVETTE: 

“If you don’t call me back I’m stopping by your place at lunch break. I don’t care what stupid shit you’re up to, I’m just trying to make sure you haven’t died yet.” 

11:51 AM, YVETTE: 

“I’m right outside, so make yourself decent, alright?” 

A moment later Vaughn heard the front door click open. He’d given Yvette a spare key years ago, but wasn’t sure it had ever been used before that day. He silently thanked his past self for the foresight, then rolled the blankets far down enough for Yvette to see him to his elbows. 

“Vaughn, you in here?” 

“Bedroom,” he called back, loud as he could, but doubtful she’d hear it from another room, his voice feeble.

Luckily for him, Yvette threw open the bedroom door just a second later. At first she seemed angry, eyebrows in a cutting arch, movements swift, almost tactical with smooth precision. Then she looked at his face, and it all faded to worry. 

“You look horrible,” she breathed. “Did you just wake up?” 

Vaughn nodded, placing the phone by his side on the bed. Rhys poked at it, to no response. 

Yvette walked over, reached out for his forehead, then stopped. “Do you have a thermometer? I’d just feel you, but I don’t want whatever the hell this is.” 

“Drawer,” Vaughn coughed, turning to the side table. 

Yvette threw it open and shuffled through the things inside. Too many pens, a paper cutter, nail files, everything except what she was looking for. After another minute of pushing aside seemingly endless amounts of other junk Vaughn had collected, she pulled out the thin plastic instrument. 

“Here,” she uncapped it, and handed over the thermometer. 

Vaughn sat with the metal tip under his tongue, sticking painfully in his dry mouth. He was tempted to curl back up under the blankets, but the intent stare he was getting from Yvette discouraged him from any further movement. 

Between the three of them, Rhys was the one watching the thermometer the closest. He was glad Yvette showed up when she had; Vaughn’s temperature reading was already at 100 and seemed set to continue. Vaughn himself seemed barely capable of sitting up, and Rhys doubted he’d even manage to get a glass of water in his current state. 

He reached out, pressing his hand to Vaughn’s forehead where Yvette had been afraid to. Vaughn blinked at the sudden cold, but instead of his usual twitch from Rhys’s freezing touch he settled down, soothed. 

The thermometer finally beeped, and Yvette winced as she held it at the ends of her fingers. “You’re at 102. I’m gonna get you some water, just stay there,” she capped the thermometer and dropped it on the nightstand. 

Vaughn leaned fully back, and Rhys took the opportunity to lay his head beside him, still keeping his hand on Vaughn’s forehead. 

“Feels nice this time,” Vaughn mumbled, closing his eyes again. Rhys wasn’t sure if Vaughn could tell where most of his body was positioned on the bed, but the smaller man did curl toward him, conscious choice or not. Rhys wished he could really hold him, brush the drops of sweat from his face, but instead he stayed still, memorizing the way Vaughn’s hair messily framed his face. 

Yvette came back with a normal glass of water and a mug of hot water with lemon. It had taken her awhile to find; Vaughn cooked, but his pantry was sparse, and the juice had been sitting in the back unopened for who knew how long. She set both down on the bedside table with a soft thud, hoping it would be enough to wake him up again. His eyes stayed closed, so she shook him gently. 

“Brought you some stuff, but I’m gonna have to leave in a minute. I can drop off some soup or something later, but you’re gonna be on your own for a bit.” Yvette was rarely one to be so outwardly worried, but it was clear she didn’t like the idea of leaving Vaughn on his own for even a couple hours. 

“Text me updates whenever you’re up for it. Is there anything else you need before I leave?” 

Vaughn nodded. “Can you just help me up? Just to the bathroom.” 

Yvette groaned, but offered her hand, which he took gratefully. His legs still felt unsteady, and his head pounded from the effort of standing up. Walking was a struggle, but Yvette held him up until they got to the door. He thanked her and stepped inside, leaning against the sink. 

Vaughn looked at himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. The tips of his hair clung to the sweat on his face, and dark circles formed the only color in his skin. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen himself look worse, when all of the sudden he started coughing. It was hacking, grating, like the air itself was clawing its way through his lungs and throat. He leaned over the sink, one hand on the porcelain edge, the other to his chest, trying to steady himself. 

“You ok in there?” Yvette asked, still outside the door. 

Vaughn struggled with a reply, and Yvette pulled open the door just in time to see him lean in, cough again, and spit blood into the sink. 

At first he was panting, but slowly Vaughn managed to stop coughing and force his breathing somewhere close to normal. Yvette just watched, stunned, unsure of what to do. Rhys felt the same way, watching from the background. 

_ This is my fault, isn’t it? _ He thought. He was right about possession hurting Vaughn; it was actively killing him. 

Rhys took a step back. He never wanted anything to hurt Vaughn, and here he was, tearing him apart from the inside. There was a pressure behind his eyes, as if he were going to cry, but it became clear that there was nothing to come out. It welled up inside him, but stayed, aching and prodding at what was left of his heart. 

“We’ve got to take you to a doctor,” Yvette said, watching Vaughn carefully. He shook his head and attempted to wave her off, but stumbled after letting go of the sink and almost fell. 

“A doctor is not going to be able to help with this,” he responded, now clinging to the door. “I just need to rest. I’ll be fine, you should go.” 

Yvette bit her lip, thinking and clearly concerned. “This is about those damn letters, isn’t it?” She sighed, “Ok, I won’t take you  _ if _ you break this fever by tonight. Got it?”

“Yeah, fine, that’s fine,” Vaughn agreed, desperate for her to leave. She helped him back to bed, then washed her hands again and headed out. He listened for the door, and after a second heard the click as it closed. 

“Rhys, you here?”

A cold grasp of his hands told him the other man was indeed there. It was always a strange feeling, comforting yet disconcerting. 

“I don’t think I can do it again. You were right, it takes too much from me, Rhys. I’m sorry,” he groaned, rubbing at his still raw-feeling throat. 

Seeing Vaughn in pain was like a needle being pushed into Rhys’s skin, over and over, just as sharp and sore as when he’d gotten his first tattoo. But hearing him apologize for not being able to stand more, when he’d already paid the price in blood and sweat, turned the instrument of Rhys’s torture from a needle to a blade, cutting and scraping the skin he’d so long lacked. 

“Don’t be sorry, don’t be, I’m the one who’s sorry,” Rhys said, releasing Vaughn’s hands to wrap his arms around him instead. He wasn’t sure what exactly Vaughn could feel, but his expression shifted from apologetic to half a smile, and Rhys figured he understood the message. 

“I know we can’t work like this. But I can still give you something else you want, Rhys. I’m going to find out what happened to Sasha.” 

_ You don’t have to _ , Rhys thought. In that moment, it didn’t matter how his soul ached for rest, or even that he couldn’t be with Vaughn how he wanted. He could suffer it, just to stay. Leaving would hurt so much more.

_ I could just stay here and watch over you forever. _


	9. Chapter 9

Even though Vaughn did manage to break his fever by that evening, Yvette still kept a close eye on him for the next few days. Although she had plenty of her own work to attend to, she’d been dropping by much more often. 

Going through Rhys’s letters were still Vaughn’s job, but Yvette seemed ready to ask their boss to change his current assignment. Vaughn guessed that the only thing stopping her was her inability to explain the situation. 

“Are you almost finished with the damn things? The faster you’re done with him the better,” Yvette complained. 

Vaughn pushed up his glasses, then tilted his head slightly to meet her eyes. “You know it’s not that simple.” 

“Except it is. Get rid of them, move on, don’t ever let me find you throwing up blood into your sink again.” 

Rhys stood in the background, watching the exchange take place. The more he thought about Yvette’s words, the more uncomfortable he felt. If Vaughn wanted to, he could always do as she suggested; finish with the letters, slip them back into the box, letting them and Rhys himself rot away, forgotten in the back of the museum. Rhys didn’t think he would even be mad, not after the incident a few days ago. But it would be for the rest of forever, with only heartache to accompany him. 

“I’m not doing that, Yvette. I can help him move on! That way no one’s left hurting. I just need to find something in the rest of these letters that I can, I don’t know, track back to Sasha?” Vaughn sighed, looking back down to the papers strewn about his desk. 

_ Unprofessional, _ he thought, annoyed with himself. 

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me,” he waved her off, pulling some of the still unread letters toward himself. Yvette let out a quiet groan of annoyance and turned to leave, letting the door slam shut behind her.

Vaughn winced at the sudden sound, then turned his attention back to the papers in his hand. For the most part they seemed to look just like the others he’d read, but one near the bottom caught his eye. 

The writing was a little less gentle than most of the others, something about it feeling anxious. It looked like it was written in a hurry, not a gesture of affection, but a frantic relay of information. 

_ Dear Sasha,  _

_ Work has been unusually unpleasant lately. Vasquez has been working with this strange pair, a man named August and his mother. It sounds funny, writing it out like that, but I’ve never seen two such intimidating people. Usually, August is the only one to come around. I consider this lucky, since his mother is by far the scarier of the two, but the presence of either is enough to dampen the mood in the whole office. I don’t quite know what Vasquez has gotten himself wrapped up in, but it must be bad. Part of me wants to know more; maybe I could finally get him fired for good. At the same time, if these two are as bad as they seem to be, I may be welcoming more harm than good to myself by engaging with them. Do you have any suggestions, my love? Whatever happens, I will be careful. I’ll come home to you soon.  _

_ Love,  _

_ Rhys _

Vaughn always took a moment to appreciate the ends of Rhys’s letters. Even in this one, as hurried as it looked, there was extra attention to the way he wrote his name and scrawled out the letters to ‘love’. They were just a little softer, the gentle touch he couldn’t give with his hands. 

__

Vaughn reread the letter, paying careful attention to the names this time. Vasquez. August. If Rhys had gotten involved with bad people, then it wasn’t too much of a reach to imagine they were the ones that caused his death. But why? And what about Fiona? Vaughn sighed, looking back to August’s name. 

__

For a moment he sat there, unsure what he could do with just a first name. How many Augusts where there in this area, back when Rhys was alive? Vaughn thought about it for a minute more, then reached into the bottom drawer of his desk. An ancient rolodex, courtesy of the last person who held his job, had sat there unused since his first day of work. He pulled it out carefully, brushing the dust off the old cards. 

__

Although there were a few cards for individuals, most were for places the museum coordinated with when doing research. Vaughn flipped through them slowly, halting as he reached ‘N. Archives’. There was a note at the bottom, scribbled in messy handwriting, that said something about court records. 

__

Vaughn wondered if the phone number listed would still work, but decided he could probably find an updated one online anyway, if it was an issue. He picked up the phone on his desk, and carefully pressed each number into the keypad. He put the handset to his ear, heart pounding as it rang loudly in his ear. 

__

“How can I help you today?” A voice echoed from the other side. 

__

“I’m looking for any court records on a person named August, and this would’ve been for about a hundred years ago. I don’t know if you can help me, but it would be really great for some research I’m doing if you could give me any information,” Vaughn said, squeezing the handset tight in his fingers. 

__

“You’re going to have to give me a minute here, but hold tight.” 

__

Vaughn heard a soft click, then the familiar sound of some outdated pop song that had apparently made for cheap hold music. He tapped his fingers on the desk, wondering how long he’d be sitting around. 

__

“Ok, so there is something here. Not quite a hundred years ago, but close. One man named August, and he was caught selling stolen goods. Had an accomplice too, and I’ve got that record here as well if you want it. It’s all digitized, you can access it for our standard fee.” 

__

Vaughn smiled, then thanked the person on the other end for assisting him. 

__

He wanted to look through August’s record first, but the name of the accomplice stopped him immediately. 

__

_ Sasha? _


	10. Chapter 10

Somehow, he was on the right track to figuring out what had happened. He scribbled down Sasha’s full name, provided by the record, and looked it up immediately. He found pages of social media profiles for women with the same name, but nothing of particular interest. 

He pressed his head into his hands. He was so close, he was certain, he just needed to get lucky with one result. He decided to take the other route, looking up August’s name this time instead. 

After many more hours of useless results, he finally found something; an old property ownership record. Once registered to August, it now seemed to be owned by a man sharing his last name. Vaughn took note of the address on a scrap of paper from his desk, clutching it in his hand and leaving the office without even stopping to pick up Rhys’s letters. 

Normally Vaughn liked driving in the rain, but today he could barely stand to be in the car. The constant clicking of the windshield wipers usually soothed Vaughn’s nerves, but today even the soft white noise was failing to soothe his anxiety. The rapid beat of the rain against the glass hammered into his skull, crushing and compacting him in his own stress. 

Although Vaughn knew he was close to finally putting together the rest of the puzzle, to really understanding what happened the day of Rhys’s death, a part of him was afraid to find out. What would happen to Rhys? And Fiona? How did he tell them whatever he learned? 

Vaughn flipped on the blinker as he pulled over in front of the house. He shut off his car and sat inside for a minute, taking it in. 

The outside was plain, a yard of once dry grass and dirt turned to mush in the storm. The building itself was covered outside by a crumbling grey stucco, that may have once been white, but didn’t have the will to stand up to a powerwash now. Vaughn crawled into the passenger seat, grabbing his umbrella from the middle console as he slid over. 

Getting out of the car was a bit of an ordeal, the brunette struggling to open the door and hold his umbrella at the same time. He kicked the door shut behind himself, almost slipped into the water below, and made a clumsy recovery by leaning back against the car. 

Vaughn took in a breath and started for the house. The brick leading up to the porch was slick with moss and rainwater, and the stairs creaked under even his weight. They looked like they’d been sturdy once, but had slowly given in to mold and disrepair. 

As he reached to ring the bell he leaned in close to the door, not very confident in the doorbell’s function until he heard the quiet chime himself. For a minute there was no response, and Vaughn wondered if anyone still lived there. 

After a sudden shuffling sound, the door was thrown open by an old, exhausted looking man. 

“Can I help you?” He asked, squinting at Vaughn, as if trying to remember him from somewhere. 

“I hope so,” Vaughn responded, finally shutting his umbrella and dropping it on the porch. “It was suggested to me that someone named August might be able to help me? And that he lived here?” 

The man at the door shook his head for a second, then looked away. “You missed him by about 26 years. August’s dead.” 

_ He’d be damn ancient if he wasn’t.  _

“But you knew him?” Vaughn pressed, already well aware that the man in front of him was most likely a relative of August’s. 

“Well, yeah, I knew him. He was my father,” he paused. “Look, I don’t know what you’re doing here, so either please just tell me now or go away.” 

“I was told he knew a woman named Sasha? I’m...close with someone who was hoping to find out what happened to her.” 

The man inside rubbed at the back of his head, grimacing slightly. “Sasha...Alright, but you should come in.” 

Vaughn thanked the man, coming in quickly and watching as the door slammed shut behind him. 

“So, um, what’s your name? Oh, and I’m Vaughn, by the way, I guess I probably should’ve started with that…” he rambled on, unsure of what to do. 

“My name is Grant,” he shuffled past him, heading through a wood-lined opening that might’ve once had a door. Vaughn cautiously began to follow. 

Grant lead him into a sparsely furnished living room. There was a bookshelf which held several books, and one which was wedged underneath to replace a missing leg. A couch sat in a similar state, leather that may have once been luxurious scratched and scraped near beyond recognition. 

Grant sat down in the middle, and Vaughn opted to sit on a dining room chair placed across from him. Vaughn pulled his bag onto his lap, holding it close. 

“So, who's out there asking about Aunt Sasha?” 

“Aunt Sasha? You two are related too?” Vaughn asked, evading the question. 

“Not by blood. She and my dad were just really close,” Grant shifted, reclining on the couch. “But I gotta admit, I’m surprised someone would be asking about her now.” 

Vaughn laughed nervously and squeezed his bag a little tighter. “How did they end up so close?” 

“My dad used to work for this guy, named Vasquez or something? Not sure that’s right. Anyway, this Vasquez guy has another employee, man named...damn, something with an R? Ryan?”

“I think it might’ve been Rhys,” Vaughn corrected, then winced, hoping Grant wouldn’t think too much about how he knew the name. 

“Anyway, this Rhys dude dated Sasha for a long time, and her sister Fiona kinda hated it, so they were sneaking around.” 

Vaughn’s grip loosened. Grant was far more forthcoming than he expected. Maybe this had a chance of going well after all. 

“So one day, Rhys decided he and Sasha should run away together. Little hazy on the specifics, but I think the plan was basically get married and then it’s too late for Fiona to say shit -- but to pull it off, Rhys stole from Vasquez. The day Rhys and Sasha are set to run away together Fiona finds out and gets there first, mad as hell, only for Vasquez to show up and kill ‘em both for the money,” Grant continued, before Vaughn spoke up. 

“How did August get involved?” Vaughn asked, confused. 

“Sasha was smart. She figured out that something bad had happened and showed up to Vasquez’s with a gun. Pointed it right at the man and dad was all set to step in until he found out Fiona died too. Rhys had messed up.” 

Vaughn made a soft ‘mm’ sound and tapped his foot slowly.

“And that was on him, but killing an innocent girl rubbed dad the wrong way. Ended up putting the bullet in Vasquez himself. After that, it’s pretty hard not to stick together, I guess. ‘Specially since she’d just pretty much lost all the family she’d ever had,” Grant stopped again. “I think that was my dad’s favorite story. Maybe it was just because he was the good guy for once,” Grant stood up carefully. 

“When Sasha died, she left some stuff with him. If she’s got someone asking around about her, it’ll probably do them more good than me. Just stay here a second, I’ll go get it out of the attic.” 

Grant walked away, leaving Vaughn alone in the living room. He wished he’d brought Rhys’s letters in with him. Even if there wasn’t anything Rhys could say to him, something about his presence put Vaughn at ease. His energy travelled through Vaughn like electricity, a thrill like nothing else. 

Vaughn was forced out of his thoughts as Grant returned, holding out an old file box. 

“Looks like it’s just full of a bunch of old letters, so go on and take ‘em,” he dropped the box onto Vaughn’s lap. 

There was nothing Vaughn could do but look up and down in shock. “You’re really ok giving these up?” He asked, wondering what he would have to do if Grant changed his mind. 

“I’ve got other stuff to remember her by. These are just taking up storage space at this point, and none of them were meant for my family anyway.” 

Vaughn nodded, slipping his fingers into the handholds. “I can’t thank you enough for this, really,” he said. “But I do have to get going.” 

“Just close the door behind you,” Grant waved him off. 

Vaughn made it back to his car with minimal stumbling, and immediately shoved the box into his backseat. He’d look through them when he got back home, or to the office, but he couldn’t help wondering what they were about. If they were Sasha’s, did that mean there were more Rhys had written? And if not, what the hell were they? 

Vaughn, now in possession of the new letters, decided to drive straight home. He’d expected the tension in his body to lessen after leaving Grant’s, but the new set of letters put him even more on edge. As excited as he was to finally have some kind of lead on Sasha, he felt like no matter what happened he’d be disappointed. Maybe he’d find out what had happened to her, but then what? Rhys got his closure? Moved on forever? 

Or, maybe even worse, the letters meant nothing. More of Rhys’s, leading to nowhere. Vaughn could enjoy his presence, but not in the way he wanted to, while Rhys continued to suffer as he had for years. That didn’t even consider Fiona, who Vaughn and Rhys felt was the worst off of them all. 

Vaughn grabbed the new letters and his keys, letting himself in the front door. He entered carefully, afraid of even brushing the delicate paper against the rain soaked door frame. He kicked his shoes off at the entrance and walked straight into the next room. 


	11. Chapter 11

Finally, Vaughn sat down at his kitchen table, carefully laying the new letters out in front of him. He spread them out, and quickly noticed that they were from Sasha, but were addressed to different people. There were a fair number for Rhys, but it looked like about as many were meant for Fiona. He checked the dates as well; many were written much later than Rhys’s last. Some even by years. He found two, Sasha’s final letters, written on the same day. One was addressed to Fiona, and the other Rhys. Although they were slightly different in content, the overall sentiment was the same. 

_ I wish I could’ve at least said goodbye, seen you one last time and gotten the chance to mourn for real. Still, I think these letters have helped.  _

_ This will probably be my last to you, not that you are ever out of my mind. It is simply time for me to accept that people I love have been lost. It’s been hard. Losing you and Rhys on the same day hurt like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Nothing I ever will; what could compare to the pain of losing my own sister?  _

_ But I do have happy news. I’ve found someone, although I’m not sure you’d like her much more than you liked Rhys. I won’t say Fiance is the word, but it’s close. I think you know better than anyone that I’ve always had second thoughts about marriage, and especially after how that ended last time... I hope that Rhys would be glad for me as well. I think he would. You may not have seen it in him, but I think he cared more that I was happy than anything else.  _

_ I’m not sure how to end this, if I’m honest. I’ve been writing to you for years, throwing it in an envelope and hiding it away under the box in my bed, and now I’m finally quitting. It’s hard, harder than I expected, but I think that after August saw I was still writing these he started to worry for me.  _

_ Anyway, if you were around, I think you’d be proud. I’m doing well, sis. I’ve learned how to take care of myself.  _

_ You are ever in my heart,  _

_ -Sasha _

Vaughn rubbed at his eyes, trying to push back the tears that threatened to fall. Sasha had lost so much, but she was so hopeful. She’d found happiness again, even if she had to move on without Fiona and Rhys. Something about it overwhelmed him; he imagined losing Rhys himself, but continuing forward. Finding someone that cared for him just as much, here in his world. 

He set to work separating the letters for Rhys and Fiona. He wasn’t certain this would give them the closure they needed, but something about it gave him a good feeling. 

The next day Vaughn returned to the museum, bag full of Sasha’s letters. He worked throughout the day, as if it were any other. Once it started getting dark, he picked up Rhys’s letter, and slipped that into his bag alongside the others. 

“I found something. Well, more than something. I know what happened to Sasha, and I have some more letters from her, to both of you. I’m taking all of it over to the mausoleum, and hopefully...well, hopefully it’s what you need.” 

Rhys frowned. He hadn’t expected everything to move so fast. He finally had a chance to escape the limbo he’d been caught in for years, but he was hesitant to leave Vaughn so soon. 

He hadn’t even been able to spend last night by his side, and it made him ache.

He followed behind Vaughn as they made their way to the graveyard. If it was going to be the last time he saw him, he wanted to remember every detail. 

The way his glasses always seemed to be a little too far down the bridge of his nose. How his shirts were wrinkled, because he never bothered to iron. How his eyes seemed the match the color of the sky -- no, Rhys stopped himself. They were brighter, gentler, prettier. 

Fingernails that were never as manicured as Rhys’s, but hands that had always been softer. Pants that were a little too long, drawing attention to his height and making Rhys want to draw him into his arms. 

Everything about him, really, attractive or not; in the end it didn’t matter, because Rhys loved him entirely. 

Vaughn shivered as he entered the mausoleum, clutching his bag close. The top flap barely closed over the rest, this time containing both Rhys and Sasha’s letters. Something told Vaughn that Sasha’s belonged here, with the people who she loved, and who loved her. 

He pulled out the letters, grouping them into two seperate stacks. One, tied up by a maroon ribbon, he placed carefully on Fiona’s grave. The other, tied up by a gentle blue, he kept in his hands as he looked down at Rhys’s final resting place. They were finally here, and they belonged here, but something about giving them up felt like the end of a story he wasn’t ready to finish. 

Rhys and Fiona stood beside him, seeing every tremble of Vaughn’s hands around the delicate papers. 

“Do you think he’ll be able to do it?” Fiona asked, watching as Vaughn’s gaze darted around the room, avoiding Rhys’s vault with every movement. 

“I hope,” Rhys began, his voice trailing off. “But it wouldn’t be so bad, maybe, if I stayed here a little longer.” 

“You want to be trapped here  _ longer _ ?” Fiona asked in disbelief. 

Vaughn sat down in front of Rhys’s grave, now holding the letters against his chest. His heart was beating fast and he could feel it, hear it, slamming hard and stinging harder. He tried to focus on anything else around him, but all he could do was squeeze the letters closer and try to force back burgeoning tears.

It was time to say goodbye; Yvette was right, he’d allowed so much of his time, so much of his  _ life _ to be dedicated to someone that couldn’t ever reciprocate in the way he needed. 

And yet, Rhys kneeled beside him, brushing a finger over Vaughn’s cheek as a stray tear finally slid down his face. At his touch Vaughn froze, a familiar chill running through him. It pained Rhys. He wanted to climb back into Vaughn’s body, take his arms and wrap them around both of them tight and hold him that way until the crying stopped. 

“This is why I have to leave now, isn’t it?” Rhys asked, more to himself than Fiona, but she responded anyway. 

“I know you care for him, but he deserves someone that can give him what he needs. That isn’t you,” Fiona put her hand on Rhys’s shoulder, squeezing gently. 

“Do you think we’ll ever see him again?” Rhys asked, fingers hovering just above Vaughn’s skin. 

“If there’s anything waiting for us after this? We’ll see him again.” 

Rhys repositioned himself to be right in front of Vaughn, looking straight into now reddened blue eyes. While Fiona had been talking to him, Vaughn had pushed his glasses up onto the top of his head, giving Rhys an unusually clear view of his face. 

“You’ve got awhile left to go,” he whispered, watching Vaughn’s tears continue to fall. “But one day you’ll find me, and you’re going to hear everything I didn’t get to tell you.” 

As he spoke, Vaughn was finally putting down the letters, even carefully untying the ribbon holding them together. “I hope this is what you need,” Vaughn sniffed, rubbing at his eyes. 

Rhys gave up on restraint, leaning forward, putting his hands around Vaughn’s face in the closest approximation he could get to really holding him. Vaughn brought his own hands to his skin, his fingertips mirroring the placement of Rhys’s. 

“I’ll miss you.” 

“I’ll miss you more,” Rhys brought his lips to Vaughn’s forehead and the other man squeezed his eyes shut. “Find someone to love you while I can’t,” he whispered, pulling back. 

After another minute Vaughn stood up, looking at Fiona’s neatly wrapped letters and Rhys’s carefully separated ones. He wasn’t sure what he expected to happen, if anything at all. 

When both remained in their place, Vaughn decided to leave. He picked up Rhys’s, knowing it had to be returned to the museum, but left the others behind. As he left he ran his hand along the smooth, cold wall, a thin layer of dust coating his fingers as he dragged them toward the exit. As he stepped out of the space he could see only the thinnest sliver of moonlight through the old windows, throwing the shadow of the flowers between the graves outside across the tiled floor. 

There was an ache that started in his heart as he closed the door, slowly expanding within him, winding its way through his veins. After he pushed his way back to his office, Vaughn dropped down into his chair and watched his screensaver bounce around absentmindedly. There was something peaceful there, an absolute lack of distraction he hadn’t felt since before reading the letters. 

_ So it’s all over _ , he thought, taking Rhys’s letter out of his bag. For a second as he held it he felt a soft warmth, on his forehead and the sides of his face, such a fleeting feeling he was certain it was imagined, but something about it set him completely at ease. He leaned back in his chair, and for the first time since he could remember, felt satisfied with one deep breath. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can’t believe its already at the end! If you have any questions for me or want to talk about borderlands im @ ceostrongfork on tumblr :)


End file.
